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"There liveth he in everlasting bliss,
Sweet spirit I never fearing more to die:
Ne dreading harm from any foes of his,
Ne fearing savage beast's more cruelty.
  Whilst we here, wretches! wail his private lack;
  And with vain vows do often call him back."

"But live thou there still happy, happy spirit!
And give us leave, thee here thus to lament:
Not thee, that dost thy heaven's joy inherit;
But our own selves, that here in dole are drent.
  Thus do we weep and wail, and wear our eyes,
  Mourning in others, our own miseries."

Which when she ended had, another swain,
Of gentle wit and dainty sweet device;
Whom Astrophel full dear did entertain
Whilst here he lived, and held in passing price:
Hight Thestylis, began his mournful tourn,
And made the Muses in his song to mourn.

And after him, full many other moe,
As every one in order loved him best;